EXIT

Warning: Dark post ahead. My 'lady hormones' have been acting up, and I've been kinda down lately. So, you might not want to read if you're looking for some cheer. : (

A fear of the unknown has kept me company pretty much ever since I can remember. A fear of insects also, but in a way, they're unknown too. Know what I mean?

Img Credit: blvesboy

It's hard to put a pin on exactly what I fear the most, but the one concept that I've had a hard time wrapping my mind around is Death. That's right, I fear death. Not so much dying, as death itself. I'm not afraid of the fact that my life has an expiry date, but there are other things about death that I feel highly uncomfortable with.

Like losing my loved ones, for instance. I know death is inevitable, but for some reason in my life, I haven't really lost the people I love. Yet. The only person I loved who died was my Grandfather, but I was very young and we weren't in the same country, so I didn't even see his body or his funeral. That was a surreal time, I don't think I really understood most of it. I just figured out I wouldn't be seeing him anymore on my next visit to India.  Apart from him, I haven't yet known death, up close and personal.

So that's what makes it all the more scary for me. I fear losing my family, more than anything else in the world. No, I don't go around acting like a paranoid freak, but deep down inside I have reason to believe that I am one. There are moments when I imagine what it would be like if my mom or dad or M died, what it would be like to look at their lifeless bodies, what it would be like to go through every moment of life without their company, their smiles, their frowns and their words. At times like these, I can truly feel the pain of their loss, even though they're very much still here. It's like a tight grip on my chest, a strange breathlessness, unstoppable tears. Even the person whose loss I'm mourning couldn't comfort me, because no matter what they say, I know they're going to die someday. I know that I'm the lady with the super-long life, who is ultimately going to outlive the rest and watch everyone die. It's just something I know, like knowledge I was born with. I guess I'm pretty much like Mrs. Weasley in this respect, my experience would be no different from hers if I ever encountered a Boggart in a shelf. 

But say, I were to die first. Say, I were to be inflicted with this horrible disease that would take me down slowly, one day at at time. Say, I knew I was going to die, at least a month in advance. I think about that sometimes. Oh yeah, that's kind of scary too. But I have a plan. Thankfully, I have a plan. I thought it out, and I wrote it down a long time ago. I'll share it with you today.

When the end comes, the right way to leave the body is in total awareness. This is what my Guru says. However, if I were dying now, I would be frightened of the unknown. Of leaving familiar surroundings and people and moving to an unknown place, all alone, all by myself. I fear the unknown, I fear facing it alone.

If I were to die now, I highly doubt that I would go gracefully. I would most certainly go in fear. This cannot be a good way to die.

To be able to die in awareness, I must be alone, no attachments clinging to me, nothing holding me back. I must make this clear to myself.

So what would I do, if I were told that this is the last day of my life, and by tonight, i would be gone?

Well, for starters...

No drama.

No telling anybody about it. Nothing special. No attempt for closure. No messing with the worldly possessions. No writing letters or talking to people. Most certainly, no Facebook updates.

What I would want to do instead, is to go about my day normally, performing my daily tasks and responsibilities in silence. Not with a sense of attachment, but only with a sense of love and compassion. I would try to remain aware of my every thought and action, while maintaining a distance from them. 

I would try to live my last day with a sense of devotion towards the Lord Divine, whose unknown territory I would be stepping into. Perhaps, with some reverence towards the owner of my life who would soon be coming to reclaim it from me. I would pray to the Divine, to help me make my exit in awareness. I would pray that when the final moment comes, I would not struggle to leave the body, I would not want to hold on or stay back, and that I would be able to go, happy and smiling, ready and excited for the adventure ahead. I would pray not to cry for my mother or father or M to be with me, holding my hand like they did on my first day of school, or on the day of my wedding. I would like to be brave enough to make the journey alone, for that is how we come, and that is how, we must all go.

This is the manner in which I would like to conduct my death. 

The tricky thing about this is that in all probability, I will not be given a day's notice, heck, not even a moment's notice before being frisked away. How in the world am I supposed to prepare myself then? 

The answer, my dear, is simple. This is the manner, in which you must conduct your life.

***

Mr. R

It's been a year-and-a-half now since M and I made the epic sojourn to Kailash and Manasarovar. Although overwhelmingly brilliant, I simply could not find the right words to describe the journey for a long time. Eventually, I thought it best to document it bit by bit, one wonderful experience at a time. The Lake Where No One Lives came first, hopefully others will follow.

While there are several noteworthy stories to share about the sights we set our eyes on, equally inspiring and interesting were the 40-odd people we shared our pilgrimage with. Names are hazy and easily forgotten, but their faces and their smiles, their words and their deeds, will remain etched in my memory forever. 

There was Maa, who had literally turned blue after catching a cold but went on nevertheless. There was Doctor S, who I'd witnessed administering stitches to an elderly lady after she had met with an accident. At the end of the procedure he touched her feet, thanking her for the opportunity to serve her. Both pairs of eyes welled up, rendering useless any further words between them. There was also the girl who made my dip in the Lake possible, who helped me walk into the cold waters with courage I never knew I had.

But most of all, I remember this one man, whom I shall refer to as Mr. R.

Mr. R, with silver-gray hair, was probably in his late fifties. He was the kind of man you could tell was very handsome in his youth, good enough to have been a movie star. His frame was muscular and there was a certain beauty in the way he held himself and took his long strides. As you'd know if you've read some of my previous posts, I take great interest in observing people who catch my fancy, and Mr. R was certainly one of them. 

So observe, I did. It was hard not to. Impossible, really. The man was remarkable not just in terms of physical beauty, but also physical endurance. The cold and high altitude that had gotten to me, a person half his age, had seemingly no effect whatsoever on his health and attitude. While the rest of us bundled up in layers, he went about regally in the only flimsy pair of clothes he had packed - as a man on a true pilgrimage would. Due to the lack of hot water, the group abandoned bathing as we gained in altitude. But not Mr. R. He continued to cleanse himself with ice-cold water at every stop we made, after washing his clothes. As he waited for them to dry, he would chant aloud Sanskrit verses on the praise of Lord Shiva. 

Naturally, I was not the only one whose attention he had managed to grab. A few considered him a man of extraordinary physical strength. There were rumors doing rounds that he would walk all the way from Chennai to Tirupati and back, once every month. Others in the group said he was a show-off, trying desperately to gain some attention by openly defying the rules. I'm not sure if the whispers ever reached his ears, but they seemed to be of no consequence to him. He seemed set in his mission, whatever he'd decided it was.

It was around 4 am on a dark, chilly morning in Paryang, Tibet, when my intense observations of the past week had actually led me to do something I never expected I would. The group was readying itself for the next leg of the journey, the all important one that would lead to the Lake Manasarovar. I was ready ahead of time, completely uneasy with the climatic conditions, having vomited non-stop from altitude sickness the previous day. It irritated me beyond reason that I had to have fallen sick while on the journey of a lifetime.  As I walked out of my room, I tried to gather my thoughts, focus myself on devotion and nothingness. And that's when I spotted in the hallway, a lone figure, seated on a wooden stool. Faint chants told me that the person was none other than Mr. R. Dressed once again in his flimsy t-shirt and pants, he was engrossed in singing the praises of the Lord, while all around him were busy looking for toothpaste and waiting for some hot water to arrive. 

I stared. I could not believe it. What on earth had this man done, I burned to know, to have possessed such an extraordinary control over his body. Here was a man, who at the age of fifty could do something that I could perhaps never, ever hope to do in my lifetime. Here was a man who had mastered something that I have been struggling with ever since I could remember - the body. He was comfortable in his skin, comfortable in his discomfort, and for that, there was no way I couldn't have done what I did next. I walked straight up to him, and bowed down at his feet. 

At first he didn't notice me. A few seconds later he did, but his chanting continued nevertheless. I shed a few tears, got up and walked away, realizing how far I was from where I wanted to be. Also realizing that maybe not too far, if I could only find a way to bow down to every creation of the creator, just the same way.

Life || The Lake Where No One Lives

Have you ever wished to get away to a place where there is not a living soul, miles and miles around you? Have you wished for silence so profound, that it engulfs your entire being like a black hole?

If you haven’t then you must. Consider it, at least. It’s a life-healing experience. I’ll talk about mine today.

I was around 16 when I first thought of visiting Kailash. The mountain in Tibet, in case you are hearing of it for the first time. I used to sit with my eyes closed every now and then, to get away from the stresses of preparing for exams. One day, I saw snow, some peaks. I imagined it was Kailash. I knew I had to go there someday.

Img Credit: Isha Foundation

That ‘someday’ came sooner than I expected. I thought I would go when I was much older. But when the opportunity presented itself, I decided it had to be taken. I convinced M, everything fell into place. We went last year.

All the time I was thinking of Kailash. Lake Manasarovar was on the itinerary, but I never paid much attention to it. A woman on the flight to Nepal asked me if I was going to take a dip in the lake. I told her that I had no idea. Kailash, and the moment I would lay my eyes on that peak was all I could think of. My dream was coming true.

The lake is on the way to the mountain. The drive was tiring. I was all weary, dozing off, sick from the high altitude. When someone said the word Manasarovar, I opened my eyes. What met them was something that I will try, but find it very hard to explain.

Img Credit: Isha Foundation

Untouched. This was the first word that came to my mind. And then all words stopped. The camera was forgotten. Everything was forgotten. There was a silence like silence was never felt before. It felt like I was at the very top of the world, at the highest point possible, although this is geographically untrue. It was a place that humans had not yet managed to encroach, to conquer, to spoil. A place where man was still at nature’s mercy, having to defecate in the open, camp out in tents, helpless when the rain water flooded in.

There was a Sathsang that evening. Stories were told, of the significance of the Lake. Of the supernatural beings that inhabited the place, beings from a different world. The beings that accompanied Lord Shiva. They might have been true, or not, but I wasn’t interested in them. This was not a time for speculation, not for me at least. It was a time to look around in wonder, absorbing like a sponge, at everything the place had to offer.

 

Img Credit: Isha Foundation

We were asked not to approach the lake at all until the following morning, after a meditation process would enable us to withstand the cold waters. We were asked to stay away especially after dark, for our own safety. The obedient people that we are, M and I complied with the instructions. We stayed in the tent all night. Rain was beating down heavily, steadily. Wild dogs started to howl at around 3 AM. I thought I heard a several female voices at once, but I couldn’t tell with the sound of the rain. It was not a comfortable night.

We were up the next morning at 6. The process started at the lake shore, where everyone gathered at around 7. It was still pitch dark. A light, persistent drizzle continued. We were offered a sort of liquid that we needed to apply on the very top of our heads. When I did, I felt an instant heat course through my body, a sudden surge of energy. A few pranayam exercises and chants later, we were ready to get into the lake.

Img Credit: Isha Foundation

It is said that dipping in the waters of Lake Manasarovar will cleanse you of all your sins. But this was not on my mind. Again, oddly, nothing was on my mind. Before I got into the lake, all the layers had to come off, the thermals, the jackets, socks, hats, gloves, everything. All I had on finally were a flimsy kurta and pyjama. By the time I was ready, almost everyone was done bathing. It was just me and another girl. We approached the lake holding hands. I did not know what the temperature was, nor what to expect.

When I first set foot in the waters, I did not feel the cold. I felt pain. From no pain, to pain. Just like that. And it only increased as we went further in. When the water reached our knees, it was as deep as we could go. It was time to take a dip.

My heart was pounding, in a way that told me I might not come out if I went in. My courage was faltering. The other girl went in first. Inspired, I did too. As I dunked and came out, the coldest I have ever been in my life, I began to cry. No, not from the pain. It was from the devotion that coursed through my entire being. I was broken, defeated. Nature had showed me where my place was, what it could do to me. I had no choice but to bow down. Internally and externally. To what, I don’t know. But I had to bow down, I felt nothing but reverence.

Perhaps that is what it feels like to be washed away of all sins. I dunked twice more.

The walk back to the tent was even more excruciating. I could barely walk, I thought my feet would be dead forever. Invisible teeth were biting away at them, there was no way I could ever recover from this state, I felt.

It took M and me over an hour inside the tent to get back to normal. As the countless layers went back on, in silence, the only sound that of clattering teeth, we sat it out, finally regaining the proper use of our limbs.

The meals tent was buzzing with activity when we went in for breakfast. Several small groups were formed, people recounting their experiences animatedly. M hung back, always the silent one, and I wandered from group to group, listening to different tales.

One particular group of people were talking softly, barely in a whisper. When I approached them, contrary to my expectations, they included me in their conversation. I learned from them of something that had taken place the night before.

A few people had apparently decided to disregard the rules and go to the lake at midnight. They had heard stories back home that this was the time when the supernatural beings came out in the open, so they wanted a glimpse at any cost. Perhaps to be able to have some interesting stories to tell.

Full of excitement, they ventured out, spotting nothing for a while. (Solving the mystery of the female voices for me). And then, one of the ladies told me, they saw something far away that was shaped like a star, zip out of the sky and into the water. That’s all they saw. As if on cue, one of the men in the group fainted. They had to drag him back to the tent.

This guy was still feeling faint in the morning and couldn’t make it to the process and the dip in the lake. Needless to say, their little expedition was found out and they had received a reprimand of sorts.

Img Credit: Isha Foundation

Later that day the sun was shining and people were hanging their clothes to dry over the tents. M went to take a nap. My lake-dip companion and I headed for the shore once more and sat there for a long time. Maybe an hour, maybe more. There was no one to disturb us, literally.

I stared and stared. At the lake, at the mountains, at the lake some more. Then I closed my eyes for a while. I felt like something was changing, shifting inside of me. Like I was letting go of things, healing. I experienced a clarity like never before. Rejuvenation is a small word, compared to what was happening to me.

The journey to Kailash continued the next day. But that’s another story.

The experience has touched me in more ways than one. The most significant change in me is that the hankering after material wellbeing has reduced. Wealth and comforts are a little less important than they used to be, there are other things that matter more.

A journey of this nature, to any place in the world, is perhaps what is known as a pilgrimage. It is a necessity for every human being.

Do you have any similar experiences to share? Is there a place like this you dream of visiting someday?

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what can i say

what i thought when i left..
and how i am right now.. what can i say..

words are failing me.. falling severely short ..
what is this that i have experienced.. what can i say..

it seems an insult, to put it into mere writings..
sacrilege, it is.. to even attempt to explain..

the Grace i was fortunate to be in the presence of..
the piercing, compassionate gaze..

devotion, hitherto unknown by me..
now floods every single cell inside of me..

Sadhguru... what can i say..



p.s. even a person as bad as me at poetry has only this means to communicate an experience such as the one i have had.. because there are just no words..